Huntingdon journal. (Huntingdon, Pa.) 1843-1859, March 27, 1851, Image 1
° lamo/bon EY JAS. CLARK. From Arthur's Homo ()aeons. SPRING CAROL. wr "COQ/IN EMMA." sprtng le coming—bear the tinkling Of her footsteps on the plain; Emerald treasures she is sprinkling, O'er the grave-mounds of the slain. Weary, way-worn winter, dying Where so long lie's reigned a king, Down his frosted sceptre, lying In the lap of merry Spring. Laughs she, at his mournful sighing, She's no heart his woes to feel, Sings she, at his tearful flying, On his exit, sets her seal. See it on the green grass, springing, Sec it in the bursting leaves, Ilear it in the happy singing Of the swallows 'nenth the caves. Balmy-breathed, and blossom-laden, Still she creeps ndown the hills, Merry-hearted, blithesome maiden, Kissing open frozen rills. In the brilliant sunlight gleaming, 'Mid the song of bird and bee, Nature n .;ua from her dreaming, To a blessed juhil,o ! THE SEASONS OF LOVE. IST J. E. CARPENTER. I will love thee in the spring-time, For 'twas spring when first we met, All on earth seem'd bright around us, And that brightness lingers yet; It is true that we were younger, But so joyous was the scene, We have scarcely felt that Winter With his chilly breath has been. O'er our day of spring -tide weather, Joy's sun has scarcely set, Then I'll love thee in the spring -time, For 'twas spring when first we met. twill love thee in the summer, For, when the spring was o'er, In the summer of thy beauty Thou wert fairer than before; • And now the fruits of autumn. Are ripen'd on the bough. And autumnal days creep o'er us, I will love thee dearly now. Though our spring of lite is over, Riper fruits life's branches fill, Then in sammer and in autumn; I will love then dearly still. And now winter is approaching, And the sunshine must depart, If we closer cling together, He can never touch the heart. For the days that are departed, Oh ! we never will repine, While we live and love together, And such joys arc thine and mine, All the seasons I will love thee, All the days thou shalt be dear— Spring—Summer—Autumn—Winter— Yes—l'll love thee all the year. IF I WERE A 'VOICE. DT OITARLES MACKAY If I were a voice, a persuasive voice, That could travel the wild world through, I would fly on the beams of the morning light ; And speak to mon with a gentle might, And tell them to be true; I'd fly, I'd fly o'er land and sea, Wherever a human heart might be, Telling a tale or singing a song, In praise of the right, in blame of the wrong. If I were a voico, a consoling voice, I'd fly on the wings oldie air— The homes of sorrow and guilt I'd seek, And calm and truthful words I'd speak, To save them from despair. I'd fly, I'd fly o'er the crowded town, And drop like the happy sunlight down, Into the hearts of suffering men, And teach them to rejoice again. If I wore a voice, a convincing coke, I'd travel with the wind, And wherever I saw the nations torn, By war, jealousy and scorn, Or hatred of their kind, I'd fly, I'd fly on the the thunder crash, And into their blinded bosoms flash,— And all their evil thoughts subdued, I'd teach them Christain brot:lerboocl. If I were a voice, a prevailing voice, I'd seek the kings of earth, I'd find them alone on their beds at night, And whisper words that should guide thorn right, Letters of priceless worth ; I'd fly more swift than the swiftest bird, And tell them things they never heard— Truth which Gtr ages for aye repeat, Unknown to the statesmen at their feet. An interrogatory of silver bweetnce, agil an &newer of diamond beauty, are continued ig tho following method of "getting to go home with her." The moon shines bright, Can I go home with you to night t Anavrer— "The Mere , 4o too— ; ',set we if Tee ie." AN OLD CORPORAL'S STORY. A TALE Olt THE REVOLUTION, We take the following extract from an article in the March number of the Republic, a Monthly Magazine of American Literature, Politics and Arts, edited by Thomas R. Whitney, Esq., and published at two dollars a year. The office of publication is at 100 Nassau street. The Maga zine is thoroughly American, and deserves the support of those who belivee that there is such a thing as American Literature. It is filled with excellent matter, illustrated and printed in hand some style. The extract which we give below is from the pen of the editor : I shan't forget it, said the old man with a slow shake of the head; I shan't forget that night the longest day that I live. You have heard, my boy, how General Washington—peace to his memory ! —was obliged to quit York bye council vote, and go up to Harlem Heights, when the British Gen eral Howe, who commanded the red coats, was just about moving in I only wish we'd a stayed there. But no matter. Washington, with the main body of his army, went up to the Heights, and General Putnam, with our brigade, was order ed to camp just outside the city—'twant half as big then as 'tis now, though—and we stopped at Corkers Hook, and 'camped. This was along about the middle of September, in 1776, just after the Declaration of Independence was signed.— There we stayed about half a day and ono night ; ' and that was long enough too. What could we do there? a little han'ful against all Howe's army.— Old Put was desp'ret proud at being left there.— He was no coward, my boy, I tell you; and we all used to think he'd a little rather fight than eat, any day. But when the red coats came on us on three sides, and two of them was betwixt us and 'the Heights, I tell you it looked squally. There was only one way left, however, and that was to fight our way through. Our General wasn't afraid of Satan himself; but he knew then that we were lin a bad condition, and that we looked to him to get us out of it. First of all, there wes a full bri gade of red coats, with cavalry coming towards us from the city; and there was another coming down front Kipp's Bay; and another from the North River, where they'd landed, and our division was frittered away to almost nothing. They numbered three times as many as we did ; but we must go at some rate or 'nether: so the drums beat to mus ter, and in less than five minutes our tents were struck and stowed in the wagons, our lines was formed, and our General, Old Put, rode down be fore us as grand as a king ! " Now, my boys," says he, "there's no time for talk ; we must fight our way through these red coats, and join General Washington. Forward!" We gave the old fellow three cheers, my boys, formed our columns, and started off with flags fly ing and drums beating ! Well, it was not more titan five minutes before we met the rascals coming from Kipp's Bay, and we'd a whipped their coats off 'em in short metre, but the other brigades canto on to as, and we wore obliged to look out for safe ty, instead of conquest ; so we made a strong push and fought our way through, but, after all, a good many were left behind prisoners, and some poor fellows that never lived to fight again for liberty. And there was a good many wounded, too, that escaped death and capture ; some had to lose their arms, and some their hands, or a leg; and their sufferings were dreadful. But there was one mor ' tally wounded in that skirmish, that see all wept over—ono that the whole regiment loved, and not a man of us that wouldn't a laid down his life for her, any day—poor Annie. She was so sweet, and so pretty, too, and obliging to everybody; and never did she pass one without a kind word and a gentle smile. You wonder who site was, my boy; well, I'll tell you t It was about two months before we left York, and while we were at Brooklyn Heights, as I heard our Captain tell, that one evening there came to his quarters, band in hand, a little boy and a girl larger, but not much older than the boy. He was about fourteen years old, and she was not yet six teen, and both looked sad, and almost heart-bro ken. It appears that they had known or heard of the Captain before, and so, in their distress they made bold to inquire for him. The brave little fellow had come to get permission to 'list in our company, bat that couldn't be, and so the Captain told him. But he was curious to know the reason of the application, and being a little kind-hearted, too, and seeing they were in great distress, he thought he might do something for their good.— So be told them to sit down and tell why they came to him for such a purpose. The little boy began his story, and his sister began weeping; but when the youngster mentioned his father's name, the Captain remembered him, and interrup ting the hoy, inquired after him. "Ho is dead, sir," answered the lad, dropping his head, as the tears flowed from his eyes. "He was killed, sir, at Sullivan's Island." Our Captain confessed that he felt like crying, too, when he heard this; for he knew ;hat, except their mother, they knew no other relative, and must be helpless. SO he inquired why they had left their mother. "At this," said he, "they seemed to choke with emo tion—they could nut answer." So he asked again "is your mother dead too?" They bowed their heads in reply, but neither could titter a word.— “Poor orphans ?” said the Captain, "I will see what can be done for you." " The little fellow told hint that his father had been persuaded to join the army, under a promise that his family would be taken care of; but they had received nothing but what came from his pay and their own labor, with which they managed to live pretty comfortably, till they heard of their father's death. Then their mother grow sick, and ta *few &ye As 4ts.l—iorokee hiartad, T surrese. HUNTINGDON, PA., THURSDAY, MARCH 27, 1851. To make my story short, our good hearted Cap tain spoke to the Colonel, and it was agreed be tween them that they would make a drummer of the lad, for he was too small to carry a gun ; and then it puzzled them to know what to do with his sister. But she soon settled that question, by tel ling them that she would go with him and never part from him. She was not afraid, she said, and she knew she would be useful in the camp, or any where her brother went. So, at last, they quar tered her with the sutler's wife, and in less than a week we all loved poor Annie, as though she had been our own child; for, except a tear now and then, that would steal from her eyes in mem ory of her father and mother, she. seemed to be the loveliest little angel alive. I know she put on, sometimes, though, to please us, for she knew we didn't like to see her look sad, and yet there was a kind of sweet melancholy in her manner. Besides, wasn't she a soldier's orphan? Wasn't she the child of one who had laid down his life in our cause? and wasn't it our duty to love her? Her brother learned first at his drum; in a month he could handle the sticks with the best drummer in the regiment, and by the time that " red coat" Howe came with his Hessians to attack us, be was ready and fit for duty, and as clever a lad no ever beat a reveille or a roll in the armies of 'Washing ton. Before that battle, little Annie was sent over to York with the women—for Old Put said lie wouldn't have any women around when there was fighting to do; and when we went over after the battle, she joined us again, and continued with us till the night after we fought our way to the Heights. At that time we were surprised so end denly that we had no time for preparation. Annie had been put in a sutler's wagon with some oth ers, and placed under an escort, close in the rear of the column, and soon after the skirmish began, they were thrown into the midst of it. The brave girl, forgetting all fear in the excitement, rose from her seat like a hero, to cheer her fighting comrades, when a British bullet struck her in the side, and she fell into the arms of a companion. It way have been a chance shot—l hope it was— (continued the old man,) for I know that the wretch who could cruelly murder such an inno cent child as that, would not sleep easy in his bed after it. The effect that her fall had on those who saw it was more disastrous than would have been the appearance of another brigade of red coats.— We all thought her dead, and for an instant our attention was more On her than on the enemy.— Many a brave heart fell when she fell, and do be lieve that if the General himself had been shot instead of her, it would not have caused, in our regiment, a greater panic. Poor Henry, her broth er, being on the right of the column, knew noth ing of her injury till we reached the Heights, and every tap of his drum, as we moved forward, went to our hearts like a death shot. We soon learned, however, that the sweet flow er was alive, and you may believe that if the watering of tears, shed by brave men, could have preserved her life, she would have lived long years idler. But, although yet alive, the surgeon told us that her wound was dangerous, and, as he fear ed, fatal. So indeed, it proved. Breath by breath she lingered; suffering, hour after hour, till near midnight, when her pure soul was lifted from earth, and flew to mingle in a happy re-union with the spirits of her loved and lost parents. Yes, on that sad night she died, and there, on the Heights of Harlots, we buried her. Sho was not entitled to an escort by the rules,of war, my boy, but wo gave her one—we did and under a volley from a ser geant's guard, wo placed in the earth the remains of our little ANNIE. Kept the Toddy Hot. Old Parson 8., who presided over a little flock in one of the back towns in the State of M., was, without any exception, the most eccentric divine we ever knew. his eccentricities were carried as tbr in the pulpit as out of it. An instance we will relate:— Among his church members was on who inevi tably made a practice of leaving the church ere the parson was two-thirds through his sermon.— This was practiced so long, that after a while it became a matter of course, and no one, save the divine, seemed to take notice of it. He at length notified Brother P., that such a thing must, he felt assured, be needless; but P. said that at that hour his family needed his services at home, and he must . do it; nevertheless, on leaving church, be always took a roundabout course, which, by some mysterious means, always brought him in close proximity with the village tavern, which he would enter, and " thereby hangs a talc." Parson B. ascertained from some source that P.'s object in leaving the church was to obtain a " dram," and he determined, too, to stop his leav ing and disturbing the congregation in future, if such a thing was possible. The next Sabbath, P. was going out, as was his custom, when the old Parson called out—" Broth er P.?" P., on being thus addressed, stopped short and gazed towards the pulpit. " Brother P.," continued the parson, "there is no need of your leaving church at this time, as I passed the tavern this morning, I made arrange ments with the landlord to keep your toddy hot until church was out." The surprise and mortification of the brother can hardly be imagined. He shrunk back to his seat, and for the rest of the day was the " observ ed of all observers." Ho didn't visit the tavern after church, neither did he again leave the church ere services were concluded. a. A lazy fellow once declared in public com pany, that he could not find broad for his family. "Nor I," replied an industrious mechanic, "I am obliged to work for it." From the London Punch. Fallacies of the Gentlemen. Br A LADY WIIO UNFORTUNATELY KNOWS THEM That women are only born to be their slaves. That dinner is to be ready for them, the very minute they come into the house. That a lady's bonnet can he put on as quickly as a gentleman's hat. That we can dress in a minute ; and that ring ing the bell violently has the effect of making us dress one bit the quicker. That they can do everything so much better than we can, from nursing the baby down to pok ing the fire. That they are "-the Lords of Creation," (pret ty lonls, indeed !) That nothing can be too good for them ; for I am sure if you were to put a hot joint before them every day that still they would be dissatisfied, and would be grumbling that you never gave them coald meat. That they know our age so much better than we do ourselves. (It's so very likely.) That they may invite whom and as many an they please, but if we only invite our mamma to come and stop with us, or just ask a dear unmar ried sister or two to stop with us fur a month, that there's to be no peace for us so long as they remain in the house. That music can be learnt without practising, and that it is necessary for them to rush out and to slam the door violently the very moment we begin to open our voices, or to run over the last new Polka. That sleeping after dinner promotes conversa- That they know what dress and bonnet becomes us so much better than we do. That it is necessary to make a poor woman cry, because a stupid shirt-button happens to be off.— I declare some men must believe that their wives cut off their shirt-buttons purposely, from the savage pleasure they take in abusing them for it. That we are not allowed to faint, or to have the smallest fit of hysterics, without being told " not to make a fool of ourselves." That housekeeping does not require any money; and if we venture to ask for any, that it is pleas ant to he met with all sorts of black looks and Me sinuations as to "what we can do with it all ;" or very agreeably be told that we will be " the ruin of him some day."—(l should like to see the day!) That the house never requires cleaning, or the tables rubbing, or the carpets beating, or the fur niture renewing, or the sofas fresh covers, or, in fact, that anything has a right to wear out, or to be spoilt, or broken ; and, in short, that every thing ought to last forever! That a poor lone woman is never to have any phmure, but always, always, to stop athome, and "mind her children." (Pm tired of such non sense.) That the wish to go to the opera is to be the sure prelude to a quarrel. That their slaughters can learn music, painting, playing, dancing, and all the accomplishments, without the aid of a single master. That the expenses of one's household do not increase with one's family, but, rather, that ten children can be supported for the same cost us That no husband is perfect, unless like Hercules with his club, and that the less a wife sees of her husband, the fonder she actually grows of him. That it is a pleasure for us to sit up for them. [The fair correspondent says, she thinks the above fallacies are enough for the present, and we certainly agree with her; but if the gentlemen show nay more of their airs, she declares that she will give them a lot more.] Pitcairn's Island. Capt. Wm. B. Drew, of ship Lebanon, of New York city, has communicated to the Boston, Jour nal, a very interesting aceout of a visit to Pitcairn's Island, in the Pacific, made by Capt. Arthur, of ship Zenas Coffin, of Nantucket. In an interview with Capt. Drew, Capt. Arthur stated that the Islanders were fine looking, well dressed, orderly and virtuous, spoke good English, and were hos pitable in the highest degree—furnishing him with water, sweet potatoes, fruits, &c., in great abun dance. The number of inhabitants was one hun dred and sixty, of whom a large proportion were children. In 1831, the number was but sixty-five. The island is represented as "almost a Paradise." It was stated by one of the principal men, that ver min, as well as weeds, were unknown for many years, until introduced by ships calling at the isl and. Captain Arthur states, further, that the isl anders had agreed to furnish an American ship which touched there, with 1000 bushels of sweet potatoes for California, in the Spring, from which it is judged that the cultivation of that root is car ried to a considerable extent. The island was or iginally settled by a company of mutineers, from the British ship Bounty. eir There is but a breath of air and a beat of heart betwixt this world and the next. And in the brief interval of painful and awful suspense, while we feel that death is present with us, that we aro powerless and the last faint pulsation here is but the prelude of endless life hereafter; we feel, in the midst of the stunning calamity about to befall us, that earth has no compensating good to mitigate the severity of our loss. But there is no grief without some benificent provisions to sof ten its intenseness. When the good and lovely die, the memory of their good deeds, like the moonbeams on the stormy sky, lights up out dark ened hearts, and lends to the surrounding gloom a beauty so sad, so sweet, that we would not, if we could, dispel the darkness that surrounds.— Prentice 4 1 ,4 cit i-4 ont ( A A Sentiment from Piedmont. At the sitting of the Chamber of Deputies at Turin, on Feb. 12th, the Marquis d'Azeglio, Min ister for Foreign Affairs, delivered the following speech on presenting the budget of his depart ment: " Gentlemen : A political conduct founded upon justice anti good faith has always been the best, and will continue to be the most useful. Much has been said of lido on State expediency; for my part I do not believe those two different standards of morality, one for the men who govern, and one for those who are governed, and I do not think State expediency should deviate from common morality. Absolutism and the policy of bad faith have bad their time. They were in vigor when public affairs were managed by a king and a few ministers, and often by a favorite or a mistress.— But at that time the periodical press was weak, the means of communication rare, and public opin ion without power. But now, if I but touch pub lic opinion, it vibrates instantly from Edinburg to Moscow, with the rapidity of lightning. I cannot deny that there is a terrible and obscure problem to be solved, the future destiny of society l Ido not pretend to solve it, but I affirm on my consci ence that society can only find repose under a Gov ernment of good faith. Negroes in lowa. A Goon Joitz.—An incorrigible wag has ad mirably succeeded in perpetrating a capitl joke upon the lowa Legislature. In passing upon the bill prohibiting negroes from entering that State, and affixing heavy penalties upon them when they do enter it, J. T. Morton, of Henry, who is both a Whig and a wag, moved an additional sec tion, "that the bill should be in force from and after its publication in the lowa Free Democrat," the abolition paper at Mount Pleasant. The bill went back to the Hoot so amended. The amend ment was accepted by the House, and the hill pass ed. After awhile, the idea began to eke through the hair of a member, that the abolition organ might decline publishing the law, and thereby kill it stone dead, and he moved a re-consideration, but failed, the bill was left to be scut to the Gov ernor iu that crafty shape. Order and Cheerfulness. It is not essential to the happy home that there should be the luxury of the carpeted floor, the cushioned sofa, the soft shade of the astral lamp. These gild the apartments, bat reach not the heart. A neatness, order, and a cheerful heart make home the sweet paradise it is often found to be. There is joy, as real, by the cottage fireside, as in the splendid saloons of wealth and refinement. The elegancics of life are not to be despised. They are to be received with gratitude. But their pos session does not insure happiness. The sources of true joy are not so shallow. The cheerful 'mart, like the kaleidoscope, causes most discordant materials to arrange themselves in harmony and beauty. Woman's Influence. Woman is ever moulding the future man.— However undesignedly she may exert it, her in fluence is around him and upon him. He comes in contact with it on all hands; nature renders its withdrawal impossible. The expression of the mother's countenance, the tunes of her voice, whether addressing her child or those around; her feeling and ideas have given a stamp, before in fancy is passed, to his character which after years may deepen, but seldom, Weyer, obliterate. This influence dues not lose its power; the boy and the youth arc moulded by it. The mother, the sis ter, and even the servant-maid will sympathize with the sorrows of boyhood, and listen to the day-dreams of youth, when man would disdain to lend an ear. Nor is her influence less potent when youth is passed. She is with man in the hour of man's weakness; to her he flies fur assistance and sympathy in the season of sufli:ring, and her sen timents become a part of his nature. Cif A LADY was lately waited on by a poor woman who lived in the neighborhood and who so licited charity, urging that she had named her child after the lady. "I had understood that the little one was a boy," said the lady. "So it is," said the other. "Certainly, then, you could not have given it my name." "I know it," said the other; "but your name is Augusta, and I named my boy Augustus, which is so near it that I thought you would give me a new frock for him; and I will do without the apron on account of the difference in the last syllable." General Scott. Gen. Winfield Scott, may now be looked upon as the candidate for the Presidency. so far as Penn sylvania is concerned; and the late visit of the members of the Legislature, and numerous citi zens, to Washington, will not set him back in pop ular favor. The opinion has prevailed to a great extent that he is a proud and haughty man, and not easily approachable by the masses of the peo ple. This is an entire mistake. Gen. Scott, it is true, has a military bearing and look, but he is as genial in his feelings and man ners as it is possible for any one to be. We called upon him on the late visit to Washington in com pany with several members, and heard others speak of their interview, and all concur in saying that it was one of the most pleasant visits made on the trip. Gen. Scott is a great man—the man of the age, and he has a groat heart. Ile is admired by the world, and loved by his countrymen. The Whigs should rally for him at once, and in earnest or machinations may defeat him. Though he is a soldier, ho is used only to the open field, and may stand a poor chance with mousing politicians t-- Pconvivonia VOL. XVI.-NO. 12. Beautiful Extract. There is an even-tide in human life, a Reese* when the eye becomes dim, and strength decays, when the winter of age begins to shed upon the human head its prophetic snows. It ig, the season of life to which the autumn is most analogous, and which it becomes; and much it would profit you, my elder brethren, to mark the instruction which the season brings. The opting and summer, of your days are gone, and with them not only joys they knew, bet many of the friends who gave them. You have entered upon the autumn of your being and whatever may have been the profusion of your spring, or the warm temperature of your summer, there is 11 season of stillness, of solitude, which the beneficence of heaven affords you, in whirls you may meditate upon the past and future, and pre pare yourself for the mighty change which you may soon undergo. It is now that you may un derstand the magnificent language of heaven—it mingles its voice with that of revelation—it sum mons you to those hours when the leaves fall, and the winter is gathering, to that evening study which the mercy of heaven has provided in the book of salvation. And while the shadowy valley opens, which leads to the abode of death, it speaks of that love that can comfort and save, and which coducts to those green pastures, and those atilt waters, where there is an eternal spring fur the children of God. Thoughts and Sentiments. 0, the smile of childhood's slumbers, is there ought on earth so lovely? The want of leisure is often only the want of inclination, A child's heart responds to the tones of it moth er's voice like a harp to the wind. Never affect to be witty, or to jest so as to wound the feelings of another. Say as little as possible of yourself, and of those who are near you. Never be influenced by external appearances in forming your judgement of a person's worth.— This is an important rule; for many a noble spi rit is covered by the habiliments of poverty; while, not unfregeuently, a showey exterior con ceals a villian. Every man who breathes, whether master or servant, employer or employed, young and old, rich and poor, each has it in his power, as he' passes along his own life-path either to shed a ray of sunshine on that of his fellow man, or to dark en it by his shade. People, says Giallo, arc always talking about originality, but what do they mean? As soon as we are born the world begins to work upon no, and this goes on to the end. And, after all what can we call our own, except energy, strength, and will? If I could give an account ofall that I owe to great predecessors and contemporaries, there would be but a small balance in my favor. The Victim of Consumption. If there be a disease in this world of ills, which seems in a peculiar manner to fit its victim for the fate which human skill cannot avert, that disease is consumption. To one who is full of life, and hope, and joy, the first conviction that it has fas tened its death grasp upon him, the fearful certain ty of its end will flash through him with a thrill of terror—more, doubtless, than that of most other diseases. Startling, it must be, indeed, to feel for the first time, that there is a worm, gnawing at one's vitals, whose greedy teeth no human skill eau stay—startling to feel the certainty of disease within, whose end is surely death. But how soon ' does the spirit grow calm; and as he feels the dis ease tugging at his heartstrings, and his strength westing away before it, how calmly then, does the soul phase itself for its upward flight—how tilts tingly 'then, does it lean upon the bosom of its God —and when flesh and heart grow faint, and fail, how sweetly sinks to its final rest, the victim of eonsumption. " so fades the summer cloud away, So sinks the gale when storms aro o'er, So gently shuts the eye of day, So dies a wave along the shore." Golden Rules for Brides. Resolve every morning to be cheerful that day; and should any thing occur to break your resolu tion, suffer it not to put you out of temper with your husband. Dispute not with him, be the oc casion what it may; but much rather deny your self the satisflietion of having your own will or gaining the better of an argument than risk a quar rel or create a heart burning, which it is impossi ble to see the end of. Implicit submission in is man to his wife is ever disgraceful to both ; but implicit submission in a wife to the just will of her husband is what she promised at the altar.-what the good will revere her for; and what is, in fact, the greatest honor she can receive. Be assured, a woman's power, as well as her happiness, has no other foundation than her hus band's esteem and love, which it is her interest, by all possible means to preserve and increase—share and smooth his cares, and, with the utmost assi duity, conceal his errors. GENIIIIL—They say of the poets, that they must be born such if so must mathematicians, so must great generals, and so must lawyers, and they should excel ; but with whatever facilities wo are born, and to whatever studies our genius may direct us, studies they still must be. Nature gives a bias to respective pursuits; and this strong pro pensity is what we mean by genus. Milton did not write his '° Paradise Lost," nor Homer his "Iliad," nor Newton his "Principia," without im mense labor. Cr Labor has its sages, though they dispense with and Academy, and its kings, *nigh tbir tol sot inrested idth Fares.